


Just A Little Change

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle finds that she has a lot to learn, and not just about Rumpelstiltskin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Little Change

**Author's Note:**

> So yes. Addicted to this pairing. Shut up :P

Belle knew she wasn't a brave person.

Everyone had heard of Rumpelstiltskin's reputation. It was dark, shrouded in mystery, and thick with blood. She was afraid of that, of what he might demand from her that she couldn't and wouldn't be willing to give. He gave her a dungeon, and then he gave her duties, and that was when he surprised her.

The tales of his delight at the misery of others were notorious, but she never expected there would be a sense of humour in there. It caught her off-guard, and that was when she started to wonder if he was really as terrible as everyone said he was.

The real test came when she tried to cook for him the first time.

He steepled his fingers and gazed at the blackened heap on the plate.

"Am I to guess what this delectable morsel is?" he inquired dryly.

She felt her cheeks redden. "It's roast pigeon," she said.  
One gesture of his finger flicked the sorry carcass over. "Pigeon. I see." He looked up at her, eyes glittering eerily. "Is it underneath the charcoal?"

She twisted the serviette, wringing it between her hands. "That keeps the meat soft inside," she said, trying to sound as if she had ever been required to cook before. He raised an eyebrow, then picked up his knife and rapped the pigeon sharply. The crisp black carbon shattered.

He put the knife down, and turned his eyes to her again. "I don't think it's meant to do that, dearie."

She was squeezing the serviette so hard her fingers hurt. "I-I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to one side, just a little, still watching her. 

"I just..." She hastily gathered up the plate. "Well... you see..." He was still watching, but she saw his lips twitch, as they had when she dropped the cup and for a moment, she threw caution to the wind. "If you wanted someone who could cook, you shouldn't have picked a noblewoman, should you?"

The room suddenly seemed much bigger, and her words echoed back on her.

He didn't move, didn't say anything, didn't do anything.

"My, my, my," he finally murmured.

Belle gripped the handles of the serving tray so tightly, she could feel the metal cut into her hands, but the words were out and they weren't coming back. "I'm just saying you didn't think very carefully about who you were taking on as your domestic staff."

"So I see," he said, propping one elbow on the arm of his chair and resting his cheek against his fingertips. For several moments, he stared at her, unreadable, then he rose suddenly, the feet of the chair leaving furrows in the thick carpet. Belle took a wary step back.

"Are you going to lock me up again?"

He tutted. "And let you escape unpunished?"

Belle's heart sank. She could already imagine the horrible punishments he could concoct. "What are you going to do?"

He wagged a finger in reprimand. "Too many questions, dearie," he said, all but dancing towards her. "Come with me and learn your lesson."

Feeling sick to her stomach, Belle followed, clinging to the tray and ruined meal as if it could save her from his punishment.

He led her though passages she had never seen, dark and twisting, and deeper and deeper into the bowels of the castle. Her hands were shaking and she wanted to drop the tray and flee, but steeled her resolve, held the tray steady, and could not have been more astonished when he turned a corner, opened a door and they were in the kitchen she had left over a short while before.

He held the door open in faux gallantry, watching her, and she thought she could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"That's a dirty trick," she informed him tartly. "I thought you were taking me to a dungeon."

"To torture and maim you, no doubt," he said with a wicked little chuckle. "No, no, dearie. It's much more terrible than that." He indicated to the vast stove, big enough to roast a whole deer. "That is where you are going."

She managed to stifle the cry of horror and alarm. Surely he would not be so terrible as to...

Her eyes met his, and she saw that same little glint in his eyes.

Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, the terror of the Enchanted forest was teasing her.

She stepped past him and set the tray down with a clatter. "If you keep on saying things like that, I'll make sure all your pigeons are the same," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

He clasped his hands together in front of him, almost as if he were applauding her attitude. "Then that will suffice as your meal as well."

She pursed her lips. He inclined his head and raised his eyebrows in challenge. "Fine!" she said, throwing up her hands. "I'll learn to cook."

He was moving again, suddenly, vanishing into the pantry. He returned, laden with a pile of objects she hadn't recognised. She assumed they were plants of some kind, but on the whole, her food had always been presented to her, prepared and cooked by others. He laid them out on the broad workbench, and gestured grandly with one hand.

"Let us begin."

"Now?"

He spread his hands expansively. "Are you not hungry?"

Her stomach betrayed her by growling pitifully. She made a face and approached the table. "What do you want me to do?"

"Name them," he said. He had his arms folded over his chest.

She stared at him, then at the objects on the table. she could feel the embarrassment rushing up her face in hot, pink waves. "All of them?"

"Any," he replied.

She stared at them again, desperately willing something to leap out at her. "Um."

He tutted, shaking his head. "Didn't you ever wonder what you were putting in your mouth?" he asked mildly. He pulled selected a knife from the array on the table and with a speed and skill that caught her by surprise, he reduced one of the round, brownish objects to fine circular slivers of white, with a familiar smell.

"Onion!" Belle exclaimed. "That's what they look like?"

He slanted a glance at her through his hair. "Well done, dearie."

She picked up a thin sliver and sniffed at it. "I'm learning," she said. "Do they all look different on the inside?"

He carved another of the brown objects in half, revealing a solid white centre. "Sometimes," he said. He turned the knife in his hand and gazed at it for a moment, then held it out to her. He raised his eyes to her face expectantly, as if he thought that the knife would be between his ribs in a moment.

She had to admit it was worth considering, for freedom, but she gave a promise, and she wasn't going to break that promise with his blood on her hands. And anyway, even if she could find the strength to kill a man who wasn't a man, if her killing was anything like her cookery, it wouldn't end well.

She took the knife. "Show me what to do."

In the end, their supper that evening was bread and cheese. They sat side by side on the heavy wooden chairs, looking at the forlorn pile of mutilated vegetables on the kitchen table.

"What do I do with those?" she asked.

He looked at her, then away. "That will be your lesson for tomorrow."

She couldn't say who looked more perplexed when she answered in all honesty, "I'll look forward to it."


End file.
